On the day before Thanksgiving, I’m finally getting around to checking off some stuff I’ve saved on Bloglines for quite awhile. Let’s hope some of this is still up:
* Better Late Than Never: It’s only been, what, 20 years since “A Year in Provence” was published, but that didn’t stop Janice Harayda from parodying it. Since I’m a Peter Mayle fan, I find this extremely amusing. By the way, did you know he got his break writing a puberty guide for kids?
* Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Cults Club Band: Bill Crider links to this painting of notable cult-movie figures, including Kevin Smith, Leatherface, Frank N Furter and more. I managed to get about 2/3rds of them, but the guy in the coffin eludes me.
* Horning in on His Brother’s Turf: Making a career out of calling people fucktards is no impediment to success, as Tod Goldberg explains.
* The most unusual version of “The Great Gatsby” ever: Beating out the Robert Redford/Mia Farrow movie by a mile. A comic book version featuring sea creatures and stamps. Trouble is, you’ll never get to read it in the United States, thanks to Congress’ insane extension of the copyright act.
* Showing Tess Gerritsen the Link Love: Turns out I have three: Why action sequences in novels are boring; What I’ve learned from two decades in the business; and How shit can happen to even best-selling authors.
* Finally: An auction catalog I can really sink my teeth into: King, Stephen. SKELETON CREW. London: Macdonald, 1985. Hard Cover. Very Good/Very Good. First British Edition.
“A well preserved old turd of a book. Items like this make me angry. Essentially the book is in fine condition with very clean brown boards, a rock-solid spine with very fine gold stamping and a clean, glossy dust jacket. However, what really pinkels me off is that the head and heel of the spine, whose structural integrity could have been preserved with a modicum of care, have given way to gravity, because someone was careless enough to allow this to happen when the book was packed or read. All in all a fine copy, but for the careless handling of the spine’s extremities. As publishers already handle their books like potatoes and sell them in supermarkets, I wouldn’t be surprised if the printed word were sold by the kilo in years to come. “I’ll have a pound of sprouts, a bunch of grapes, four Cumberland sausage rings and 24 pages of the latest Stephen King, pleeze”!!!.
And, yes, I’m still here and I’ll still be posting.